Prompt 1: Who Am I
Sometimes, I am not quite sure I know. There are times when I feel completely confident in knowing who I am, then the following morning it is as if it was all somehow a lie, an illusion put over me, and I am too suspicious to believe anymore. At least, until the next day.
Most of my memories up until the last few hundred years are gone, worn away like the rock in the river that can never quite move from the pool at the bottom, slowly the deep water smoothing out the rough edges until the original shape is all but forgotten.
I know sometimes I was happy, sometimes I was sad. I suffered, very much, but then there were times when I did not. I know a long time ago, when the air was thicker and warm, and the sun a slightly different color, I and others went to a place with insects as large as my head, and rats as large as a cat. I was poisoned, and it was one of the most miserable few months I ever experienced in several centuries.
I know I had a mother and a father that I loved. That I had things such as duty and honor. That we were grey cloaked and knew little of men and their minds. I was moved to live as what people today would call a political prisoner, raised under the watchful eyes of a forest-lord to ensure his safety and the safety of the people of my family. It was unpleasant, but sometimes peaceful. They kept track of the children with bells like a dog, they would braid them into our hair and in our clothes, but this only trained us to move silently. We all became the best Rangers.